


Suits

by Emmypadders1



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Body worship of Greg, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Greg is uncomfortable, M/M, Mycroft fixes it., New chapter!, Oral, Rimming, Suit Porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-31 17:32:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6479920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmypadders1/pseuds/Emmypadders1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg has been given a suit by Mycroft for an event. The only problem is, he looks awful. Or so he thinks. Mycroft however has other ideas...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mystradedoodles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystradedoodles/gifts).



> This is for the lovely Mystradedoodles also known as Kowabungadoodles. Her art is amazing and I absolutely love her. This is a small gift in appreciation for her work. 
> 
> I am tempted to write a follow up chapter where Greg can properly reciprocate. Stay tuned...

Lestrade looked down at himself in the long lined mirror. All his life he had dreamed of a suit like this. He ran his hands down the silk of his waistcoat and admired the gentle play of shimmer in the light. But he worried that the rough pads of his fingers might snag the delicate fabric and he dropped his hands. The tie was tight around his neck and he knew that it was slightly off but no matter how many times he tied it, it was always wrong. Then he glanced at his feet and huffed. The fabric was too long in the leg and he balanced on his toes but it was no good. The suit made him look… dumpy. He turned and looked over his shoulder at the curve of his arse, too large for the fabric that strained over it. He grimaced. What had Mycroft been thinking? Hell, what had he been thinking when he agreed to this? Greg sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He looked like a bloody fool and if he knew it, then so would everyone else. Greg secretly suspected that the second he left the apartment a flock of journalists would descend, along with his team to take photos and to mock him. He could hear them laughing as he turned away from the mirror, fighting the childish impulse to kick it over. Donovan would crack up if she saw him like this. And Anderson… he shuddered to think. 

That damned tie. He tugged it off with more force than necessary and instantly regretted it. The resulting throb in his neck stung, but that wasn’t the cause of the tears in his eyes. The DI shoved the balcony doors open and was smacked in the face by the loose strands of his tie. He almost screamed in frustration, knuckles white as the metal railing bit into his hands. He wanted a drink. No, he wanted a smoke. A treacherous voice that sounded distinctly like his ex-wife whispered; ‘You’re too old for that suit.’

“Gregory?” Lestrade tensed at the unexpected voice. “Gregory, you look…” Mycroft was lost for words. 

Oh god, Mycroft’s silence could only mean one thing; he hated it. Greg hung his head. It wasn’t fair that Mycroft, who looked amazing in a suit, was stuck with Lestrade, who frankly, looked bloody awful. He must have been so disappointed in Greg, stuck with a clumsy, fat oaf who could never pull a suit off in his wildest dreams. Greg swallowed back the lump in his throat and resisted the urge to run away.

“You’re tense. Why?” Mycroft’s voice was close and Greg closed his eyes as he felt the warmth of Mycroft’s hands seep through the fabric to his back.

“Doesn’t matter,” he huffed.  
He could almost hear Mycroft pout as Greg hunched his shoulders against the hands.

“My dear, you look delightful. Are you ready for dinner?” 

Lies, Mycroft had to be lying. Greg began to panic, how could he get out of this? “No. I… I’m not feeling well.”

“Gregory?”

For a moment he wavered on the spot and then Mycroft pressed his hands a little harder, reassuring as they grounded him. Greg leant back into Mycroft’s heat despite himself. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbled. 

There was silence and Greg could feel Mycroft’s inquisitive gaze, assessing and calculating.

“Ah,” was all he said before Greg was led back into the bedroom.

Greg began to panic as he was positioned in front of the mirror again. His jaw ached from the effort to hold back an anguished sob and his fists were clenched at his sides.

“My darling, look.” From the way Mycroft stood behind him, Greg wasn’t able to see what Mycroft’s suit looked like, but he bet it was incredible. He looked at his own and grimaced. For a moment there was silence, then Greg dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Did you know that this is the finest silk? I had it dyed the perfect shade to compliment your hair. Do you see how in certain lights it becomes obvious that it is not in fact black, but a deep azure?” Mycroft’s voice should have been illegal. But Greg focused on the words and looked down at those pale fingers splayed across the expensive material.   
“You’ll note the slim cut of the waistcoat, the darts that align perfectly with your hips. It creates this echo of your frame that is in a word, devastating.” 

Greg’s lips parted, and his breaths came quicker as the hands traced the seam of stitches along his sides. His head tipped back to meet Mycroft halfway and he felt the man’s breath ghost over his ear.

“And this tie, allow me to demonstrate,” Greg swallowed against the slim fingers that were everywhere at once. Now they were at his neck, and Greg watched their reflection as Mycroft bent to press his lips to the tanned skin. A noise close to a whine escaped Greg when Mycroft’s teeth scraped his neck and then the bite. 

“Oh god!” He tipped his neck to the side just to see a purple bruise quickly hidden by the tie and collar of his shirt.

Mycroft grinned. “See how the bow tie is perfect for covering imperfections, delicious though they may be.”

Greg nodded and realised how the tie was no longer a restriction. It fit perfectly. Somehow it seemed to elongate his neck and show off his tan from the last holiday the couple had shared. 

“And here, we can truly admire the tailor’s work. Each seam was finished by hand, Gregory. This suit isn’t tight, it is designed to shadow your shape and highlight your best… assets.” Mycroft’s hand skimmed down Greg’s back and further, stopping only to cup Greg’s arse. “Turn for me and you’ll see.”  
Greg did as he was told. He looked up at Mycroft for the first time that evening and was surprised at the unhidden lust in his eyes. The desire was so obvious, so undeniable that it stole Greg’s breath.

“Look over your shoulder.” 

Greg craned his neck to peer at his back in the mirror. Mycroft’s hands looked even paler against the blue suit, his fingers cupped the curve of Greg’s arse and Greg was able to see what Mycroft meant. The fabric wasn’t as tight as he first had thought, it complimented his figure but not as much as the way Mycroft’s hands did as they began to squeeze the flesh beneath the suit.

Greg grunted and pressed his hands to Mycroft’s shoulders for support as the globes of his arse were massaged by sinfully skilled fingers. 

“My…” he husked. 

“Do you see now darling? Do you see how beautiful you are?”

Greg felt his cheeks burn and he ducked his head, suddenly unable to look up at Mycroft any longer. He felt, rather than heard the dissatisfied growl, deep in Mycroft’s throat at Greg’s response. Without warning, Mycroft spun Greg again and pressed him to the wall.   
The look in his eyes was a promise, a promise that he would make Greg understand before they left the room. When he sunk to his knees, it was all Greg could do to gawk. Mycroft settled on the plush carpet and brushed a thumb over the inseam of Greg’s trousers. “This stitch is one used only by the tailors of Saville Row, sewn in such a way to strengthen the fabric, designed to withstand any unfortunate… strain.” His knuckles ran over the growing bulge at the front of Greg’s trousers and the detective whimpered. And observe, dear Gregory, the invisible zip.”

Greg squirmed against the hand now blatantly palming his crotch. Heat seared through his loins, settling deep in his gut. His head rest against the wall as he pushed forwards, into the delicious friction that hand was offering. “Oh god…” He began to worry about ruining his suit when he heard the creak of a zip opening. Mycroft’s fingers were long and nimble from years playing the piano and Greg could feel each sensitive digit as they worked his zip open. Cool air met his too hot skin and he sighed in relief.  
But he barely had time to catch another breath as Mycroft took him in hand again and stroked once along the rigid cock. This time Greg did yelp, a strangled hoarse cry in surprise. Greg had never seen Mycroft like this before, so attentive and yet utterly commanding at the same time. It was hypnotising and Greg never wanted it to stop, he moaned his encouragement even as his hips bucked up into the tight grip. “God, Mycroft!” A deep flush had spread up his neck and blotted his cheeks. His hands scrabbled for purchase against the wall behind his back and his legs shook as Mycroft’s grip sped up. Greg began to pant as the heat in his groin flared; it seemed to swell like a wave, rising higher until his chest felt tight from it. He realised he wasn’t breathing properly when black spots appeared in the corners of his vision but he could hardly breathe.   
Finally Mycroft relented and Greg dropped from the balls of his feet to sag slightly against the wall, panting harshly. “Myyyyy,” he complained. “Killin’ me.”

Mycroft chuckled. 

“Fuck!” Greg’s head smacked back against the wall as wet heat enveloped his straining cock. Mycroft was deep throating him in seconds and the suction nearly sent Greg delirious. Greg had to open his eyes; he needed to see Mycroft’s lips stretched over his skin. His eyes shone and his fringe bounced from the effort to suck and Greg was mesmerised as he reached out, brushed his thumb against the side of Mycroft’s mouth which impossibly quirked in a smile. Greg took it as permission to run his hands through Mycroft soft hair, yet to be styled for the evening. His grip tightened as Mycroft did something particularly delicious with his tongue that had Greg mewling with pleasure. As Mycroft quickened, so did Greg’s arousal and the ground seemed to get further away as Greg stretched up into that heat, into the suction. It was out of control, his nerves fizzed as he reached the brink of orgasm. Wavering, Greg finally looked at the mirror, at his reflection.

His hair was plastered to his face and his cheeks were desperately red. But his eyes shone, bright with arousal and his lips parted in a drawn out moan. He was beautiful. And then he came. His orgasm crashed through his entire being and he shuddered in Mycroft’s mouth, voice hoarse from shouting through his climax.   
He fell and Mycroft caught him easily, helping him down the wall and then the men were a flurry of limbs, hands desperately clawing at each other. Their lips meeting were the only sound in the otherwise silent room. Mycroft huffed as Greg nipped and sucked at his jaw, tightening his legs around Mycroft’s waist. The position offered Mycroft the opportunity to rut against the crease of Greg’s thigh and he took it with pleasure, eagerly thrusting into the tight space Greg made. His grunts were sharp and heavy in Greg’s ear, breath damp and fanned deliciously against his skin. Greg pushed Mycroft’s blazer up and scrabbled with his shirt until that too was lifted somewhat. Mycroft’s back was searing hot and for a moment Greg worried the man was burning up. He wrestled a hand down past Mycroft’s trousers and squeezed his arse, difficult to judge from the man’s unpredictable thrusts. Mycroft moaned his appreciation as Greg pressed his fingers down, between the cheeks and against his furled hole. One press of his thumb against that sweet spot and Mycroft stilled. His body tensed entirely and Greg pulled him close as he fell apart in the wake of what must have been an earth shattering orgasm. 

The couple was late for dinner, but there was no doubt that it was worth it. Half an hour later the men stood before the mirror once more, looking more presentable. Mycroft straightened his shirt and smoothed his hair over before looking over at Greg. The DI grinned bashfully.

“Thanks for the suit My. It really is incredible.” Greg turned to admire himself in the narrow glass and nodded.

“Gregory dear,” Mycroft cupped Greg’s cheek and kissed his brow sweetly. “You should know, it’s never the suit that makes the man, but rather the other way around.”

Greg took a moment to think about that. He thought of the way Mycroft carried himself and realised that even in his pyjamas, Mycroft held himself in a way that oozed confidence, elegance and certainty. He was stunning no matter what. The DI smiled, yes, he understood now. The man made the suit.

When Greg left the hotel room, it was with a definite spring in his step. Mycroft followed close behind with a fond smile on his lips as he watched his partner stride down the corridor, turning heads of both men and women in his wake. He was incredibly lucky and he hoped to show Greg his appreciation all over again after dinner.


	2. Dinner and a Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My tribute to 22/1 b day

 Dinner was, for Greg, a pleasant surprise. The food was delicious, especially once Mycroft showed Greg how to crack open the lobster shells. The meal was accompanied by music, a large swing band orchestra that played all night and Greg listened, tapping his foot under the table. He tried to join in on the conversations at the dinner table but if he was being honest, most of it went over his head and it was just easier to listen to the music

When they started Glenn Miller’s Moonlight Serenade Greg was struck with nostalgia for the old favourite. Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe something else that made him reach out for Mycroft under the table.

The politician shifted imperceptibly, he dropped out of the conversation.

“If I asked you to dance,” Greg pitched his voice low, “would it damage your career?”

Mycroft seemed to ponder it for a minute, his thumb rubbing the back of Greg’s hand beneath the table cloth. It was already suspicious that he had brought Gregory, and not a woman to accompany him for the meal. He looked around at the crowd of people, colleagues. Friends he had worked with for years. For the most part, he knew they would understand. And really, what harm could one dance do? Finally he made up his mind. “My dear, to dance with you would be a delight. Perhaps we could… on the balcony outside?”

Greg turned his head to where Mycroft was suggesting and nodded. He understood. With his own career he knew how important it was to maintain a certain image and he tried not to be hurt as he led the way onto the secluded balcony.

“I’m sorry Gregory, truly. One day perhaps…”

Greg looked around and satisfied they were alone, cupped Mycroft’s cheek. “I understand My. It’s fine really.”

“I couldn’t be more proud to have you on my arm,” Mycroft confessed. “You truly are one of the most important people in my life.”

Greg beamed at the younger man, feeling colour heat his cheeks. “Thank you. Yeah,” he cleared his throat and shuffled awkwardly. “Love you too.” He took the man into his arms, holding him close as they began to sway, falling into the natural rhythm of the song. There was no awkward pause to determine who would lead the dance, the two fit perfectly as Greg masterfully swept Mycroft across the small space.

“I’m impressed Gregory. Who taught you to dance, your grandmother or grandfather?”

Greg smiled sheepishly. “My Grandfather did. This was one of his favourites.”

“I must thank him.”

Greg’s smile wavered but he masked it well. “He passed away a few years ago My. Dancing was one of his favourite things. It offered him an escape I guess.”

Mycroft touched the back of Greg’s head gently, caressing the nape of his neck. “You never talk about your grandmother…”

“No.” Greg’s shoulders tensed and Mycroft’s fingers twitched in response.  “She wasn’t… She didn’t love him. She hurt him.”

Mycroft understood. It was a conversation for another night, with something stronger than champagne. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

Greg didn’t answer, opting instead to spin Mycroft. “I never knew you could dance. I feel like we’ve been wasting our time. Can I lift you?”

Mycroft nodded and allowed Greg to raise him in a simple lift, balanced against his hip as they spun again. When they stopped, Greg nearly tripped at the look he was being given. Mycroft was watching him with wet eyes, shining with an all too familiar look of lust and affection. It was a combination that never failed to catch his breath. He cleared his throat.

“Think we’ve shown our suits off enough to call it a night?”

“Most definitely,” Mycroft replied easily. “Maybe you can show me a couple more of your dance moves in our room.”

Greg laughed, his nose crinkling. “That… that is definitely your worst pick up line. To date.”

“And yet, and yet…”

Mycroft left the balcony, leading Greg back into the crowd. He nodded with ease at them as they parted to let him through. Greg watched his back retreat for a moment then followed, almost as an afterthought to the lift. His hand shyly brushed against the back of Mycroft’s as they stood, waiting for the lift to meet them.

Floor ten, nine, eight, seven, six… Greg was acutely aware of Mycroft next to him, the rise and fall of his chest with every breath, the subtle shift of weight from one foot to another. The lift’s arrival startled Greg, but only briefly. He took Mycroft’s hand and tugged him in. The doors couldn’t shut quick enough.

It wasn’t clear who moved first, but the result was the same. Greg was pushed against a mirrored wall, the cool glass seeping through his jacket as Mycroft pressed against him. Greg didn’t even have time to moan as Mycroft kissed him, his hands suddenly everywhere and Greg couldn’t breathe, could hardly even move when Mycroft’s hand slid lower. He groaned then, head bumping on the mirror.

“My,” he begged. The lift pinged and Mycroft stepped aside, perfectly composed as the doors opened on their floor. Both men looked at the door, just down the hallway. Greg dry swallowed, his fingers twitching at his sides. It seemed such a long way away and Mycroft didn’t make a move. He glanced shyly at his partner, worried Mycroft was having second thoughts. But the second he looked, Mycroft flashed him an impish grin and darted off down the corridor. Greg huffed in surprise, barrelling after the younger man. The champagne had gone to his head more than he thought though, and he bumped into a wall as he ran.

“Oh fuck and bugger!” He grasped his bruised shoulder and carried on, eager to catch up with Mycroft who was at this point laughing over his shoulder.

“Keep up old man!” Mycroft teased.

Right, Greg wasn’t going to let him get away with that. Mycroft won the race, first to touch their bedroom door but Greg was close behind and then he was there, pressing Mycroft into the door and trapping him.

“Are you trying to run away from me?”  Greg panted, a faint smile on his lips.

Mycroft didn’t reply, instead he reached for Greg’s bow tie and pulled at the ends, making it fall loose around his collar. “Hmm… the dishevelled look suits you my darling.”

“Yeah?” Greg leaned in so his nose was touching Mycroft’s.

“Yes,” Mycroft said, suddenly breathless. Greg pushed up onto his toes and kissed Mycroft. He could feel the man relax into the kiss, his body sunk, the tension in his limbs disappeared as Greg took hold of him, almost cradling him in the doorway. Somehow Mycroft got the key card and slotted it into the door. Greg only just saved Mycroft from falling backwards as the door swung in.

“Bed?” Greg breathed.

“Yes, I should think so.”

The DI grinned in response as he led the way into their bedroom. He flipped a side light on, casting a warm, intimate glow in the room. Already Mycroft had removed his suit jacket and placed it over the back of his chair. He turned to Greg. “Come here Gregory.”

The older man arched an eyebrow in response but moved across the room to the bed.

He really did look delicious like that, with his bow tie undone, the first two buttons loose so that a collar bone peeked through the gap in the shirt. Mycroft touched the man’s hand. “Take off the jacket Gregory.”

Mouth suddenly dry, Greg did as he was told.

Mycroft removed Greg’s cufflinks and the clinked as they were set down on the bedside table. He licked his lips as he rolled up Greg’s sleeves, to the elbow.

Greg smiled, bemused. “What are you doing?”

“Making you even more dishevelled.”

Greg bit back a laugh at the thought. Mycroft had seen him after a weekend traipsing through Dartmoor, hounded by a stray dog. He’d seen him after that time he fished Sherlock from the Thames. It seemed that Mycroft had only ever seen him as a mess so he couldn’t understand why now Mycroft was so keen to see him with his tuxedo undone. But the look in Mycroft’s eyes was all the encouragement Greg needed and he gently pushed Mycroft to sit on the bed. He stood, looking down at Mycroft as he slowly pulled his shirt from his trousers. Mycroft visibly swallowed as the shirt hung loose on the Detective. Greg grinned, his confidence growing as he began to undo the buttons, working from the top down. He only reached the middle when Mycroft growled, snatching at the shirt and ripping it the rest of the way.

“Mycroft!” Greg gasped in surprise as he was pulled down onto the bed. He couldn’t believe Mycroft’s impatience; it was so unlike him and in truth, it made Greg feel sexy as hell. He pressed his hips down into Mycroft’s, making the younger man exhale sharply, back arching to meet Greg.

The DI held onto Mycroft’s hips and kissed his neck, stopping to bite at his collarbone and Mycroft writhed at the contact. Greg sat down on Mycroft’s lap and rocked down into him. Mycroft’s eyes rolled at the friction and he bucked his own hips up into Greg, making the man bounce and nearly lose his balance.

“Fuckin-” For a while they stayed like that, a frenzied rocking into each other as the room became warmer. Greg groaned and tipped his head back. He took a hold of Mycroft’s hands and pinned them on either side of his head. “Fuck you’re lovely like this.”

“Lovely?” Even pinned, Mycroft managed to look indignant. “I am the British Government and MI5 combined. I have done things you would never dream of and you think I’m… ‘lovely’?”

Greg paused. “Yes. Yes I bloody do.”

Mycroft squeaked as Greg lifted his hips and easily flipped the politician over onto his front. “Don’t get me wrong,” Greg said. “I love the politician with all my heart. The man who can stop wars and free countries… but I also love you. Mycroft. You are good, and funny. You keep me on my toes you… you make me feel alive and I love you for it.”

Mycroft was glad his face was hidden from Greg. He wasn’t used to such praise but Greg could tell that he was pleased. He leaned down and kissed the back of Mycroft’s neck. “Love you,” he whispered more softly this time. He pulled down Mycroft’s collar so he could whisper it again against his shoulder. “Love you.” He felt Mycroft shiver beneath him and he grinned against his skin.

“I… I love you too,” Mycroft whispered.

“That’s a relief,” Greg growled. He sat back and pulled down Mycroft’s trousers and all the rest until he was left in just a shirt, undone and hanging loose off him. By this point, Mycroft was on his hands and knees on the bed, head bowed. His fringe was damp and when Greg placed a hand on his spine, Mycroft trembled.

It was like he couldn’t breathe and then he felt Greg’s lips against his back, through his shirt. It was damp now and Mycroft struggled to keep his composure as he felt the kisses move further down his spine.

“Gre- oh god!” His whole body jerked as Greg pushed the hem of his shirt up and away from his backside. The sensation of hot breath against his inner thigh made Mycroft moan, a low obscene noise. “Gregory, what are you- you mustn’t!”

The DI pressed the hot palms of his hands against Mycroft’s arse and massaged the flesh there, eliciting another groan of approval from Mycroft. “You want me to… right?”

“God yes,” Mycroft replied immediately, his face flushing scarlet. “Just do it.” The DI leant in and pressed his tongue to the hot skin, normally hidden under layers of clothes, now fully exposed to Greg. He pressed the flat of his tongue against Mycroft’s hole, massaging it with clumsy strokes. It was something so forbidden and yet it had Mycroft tipping his head back and shouting to the ceiling. “Gregory! Fu-Greg!” The politician thrust his hips into the mattress, revelling in the sensation of the rough tongue against his most sensitive flesh. He clawed at the bedding, panting and sweating, desperate for release.

Greg was utterly enraptured. He swapped his tongue for two fingers and pressed them against his hole. “My, love… where’s the lube?” The politician whined and scrabbled around in the bed for the bottle. He pulled it from a pillow case with a grin and offered it to Greg before laying back and closing his eyes. When he didn’t feel the expected pressure at his arse he looked up again, confused.

“Gregory!” The DI was still kneeling over him but his trousers were gone and he was working himself open, a hand pressed into Mycroft’s chest to stop the DI from falling as he fucked himself on his own fingers. He was chewing his lip in that infuriatingly sexy way that stole Mycroft’s breath and the politician reached out to steady Greg so that the man could focus solely on opening himself. Greg’s head fell back and Mycroft licked his lips at the sight of that long cord of muscle, standing out from Greg’s neck. He didn’t even have time to think as Greg dropped down onto his lap, hard. Mycroft shouted and his hold on Greg’s hips tightened as he stared up at him, disbelieving.

Greg flashed him that toothy grin that always drove him mad and for a moment neither man moved. Then Greg rolled his hips, just once and it was enough to kick Mycroft into gear. He thrust up into Greg just as the DI pushed down and it was utterly perfect. Mycroft sat up, leaning against the headboard for support as he fucked up and into Greg. He gripped the detective inspector’s hair, tugging it so he could expose the man’s neck. He bit hard, leaving another bruise next to one that had already begun to fade from before dinner. The sharp drag of teeth made Greg sigh and cling to him, even as he worked himself hard against Mycroft.

“Fu-My,” he keened.

The politician huffed, his fringe bouncing against his brow as he pushed into Greg over and over. It was a pure battle, both men struggling to get as close as possible to the other, to tug and to pull into each other.

Mycroft hissed as he felt that all too familiar pressure build in the base of his stomach, pleasure curling and waiting for release. He sped up, chasing the pleasure now.

“Do it,” Greg whispered and pushed down again, onto Mycroft.

“Gregory!” For a moment Mycroft couldn’t move. Every muscle was tensed, poised and he couldn’t even breathe. And then he was there, bucking desperately into Greg’s warmth. Even though they’d had sex not too long ago, for Mycroft, it felt like it had been days. He groaned as he flopped back into the mattress, his breath a thin rasp even as he held onto Greg.

The DI was still moving, gently lifting his hips and dropping them again in minute movements. Mycroft blinked up at him and exhaled shakily.

“Gregory,” he whispered. “Come on me.”

“What?” Greg swivelled his hips from side to side, just to feel Mycroft deeper inside.

“You heard me,” Mycroft said as he pushed his shirt further open to expose his bare chest. “Come on me.”

“Oh my god, oh god.” Greg took himself in hand and began to stroke, even as he rocked back onto Mycroft’s waning length. He bit his lip, frantically chewing as he brought himself off. “I-I-oh Christ! My!” He angled himself down so that when he came, the majority landed on Mycroft’s chest. He looked down, out of breath at the thick white mess covering the majority of Mycroft’s torso and he grinned. “That…” he whispered, “was fucking hot.”

Mycroft smirked and plucked a tissue from the dresser. “Quite so,” he replied imperiously.

“Excuse me, ‘quite so’? I just let you damn near fuck my brains out and you might as well call it adequate.”

Mycroft looked suitably cowed, even as he wiped himself clean. “I’m sorry. You are of course as always dear, correct. It was… ‘mind blowing’ as I think they say.”

“You know exactly what ‘they say’ love. Don’t be a snob.”

Mycroft’s response was a wicked grin that had Greg laughing even as he pulled the duvet up and over them both. They rolled until Greg was being cuddled from behind and Greg reached out to flip off the light. In the darkness Mycroft was much more aware of sensation. He could feel the hair on Greg’s thighs rubbing against his own and if he placed his hand on Greg’s chest, he could feel the man’s heart beat. It was slowly coming down again. Mycroft grinned into Greg’s hair and kissed his favourite spot, just behind Greg’s ear.

“I adore you,” he whispered, half hoping his voice would be lost to the darkness.

“Love you too,” Greg whispered back, not missing a beat.


End file.
